


Is that a ring in your pocket or are you happy to see me?

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy promised himself that he was going to marry Clarke Griffin while on their third date. He's had his proposal planned for years, every single detail of it mapped out. But this? It’s as far a cry away from the proposal he’s had planned for the longest while as one can get.</p><p>or, things don't always go as planned with these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is that a ring in your pocket or are you happy to see me?

**Author's Note:**

> None of my other fics are working out at the moment and A levels have me stressed, so I took a break to write some nauseatingly fluffy fluff about these two idiots, as one does.

Bellamy promised himself that he was going to marry Clarke Griffin while on their third date.

The date itself is an unmitigated disaster though; the new and trendy restaurant had gotten overbooked, the weather report lied about ‘a cloudless night perfect for stargazing,’ and the rock concert in town made traffic horrendous.

Yet somehow, the night isn’t a disaster. They buy a veritable feast from a drive thru Wendy’s, draw patterns on the fogged up glass of the windows, and use the pinpricks of city lights as seen from the overlook to act as their stars. He tells her stories instead, of Persephone and Hades, Jason and the Argonauts, stories that she’s probably heard from him a thousand times before, but it doesn’t stop her from listening in rapture and drawing patterns on the discarded burger wrap with ketchup.

He already knows that he loves her, but it’s sitting there, watching her with mud smudged on her ankle and hair darkened with rainwater as she polishes off a milkshake, leaning over to poke him in the cheek with a soggy chip when he rolls his eyes at her lame pun, does he realise that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s known Clarke for about six years, loved her for five, lived with her for four and wanted to marry her for three.

Still though, despite having planned his proposal down to the fucking t, Bellamy’s lacking one very important thing, and that thing is the ring.

See, Clarke doesn’t like jewellery. Clarke doesn’t even _wear_ jewellery besides the nondescript studs in her ear which makes buying a ring incredibly difficult. Clarke has always told them time and time again that she never wants jewellery as a gift.

“I have so much of it already,” she says, not making eye contact with any of them, “My parents always bought me diamond necklaces or earrings and stuff for my birthday and Christmas and I never wear it more than once. Plus do you know how hard it is to get paint out of these things?”

It fuels his Princess jokes for months to come, but he does pay heed. The closest Bellamy has ever come to giving her jewellery, is a macaroni necklace and a pair of plastic earrings shaped like dinosaurs.

(And the occasional plastic tiara on her birthday. She usually bats it off and flings it at his face though.)

He spends months moaning about to Octavia- and by extension Lincoln- about how hard it is to actually find a ring that she’d like and maybe he just go down on one knee with one of those candy things instead? But Clarke only likes sour candy and he’s back to square one, flopping down on their couch and throwing an arm over his eyes because this shouldn’t be that hard.

He’s not sure if it’s his general patheticness or the fact that he was actually considering to use a ring pop or maybe some combination of the both, but his sister finally gives in and agrees to help, sending him a different link everyday for the past six months.

In the end it’s Clarke who gives him the idea.

Her father’s watch stops working again and she gives it to Bellamy to take it into the shops. This time almost the entire inside needs to be replaced and when he sees the delicate cogs and gears, he gets struck with a sudden streak of inspiration.

“Can you keep those for me?” he asks the man methodically prying each piece out and laying them on the work table. He just glances up at him and grunts noncommittally, but when he’s finished he hands Bellamy the newly fixed watch and all the spare parts in a tiny envelope.

It takes another two months before he finally has the ring made, and he stops by the store after work to pick it up. He grins when he sees it in the nestled in the box, and slips it into his pocket.

The proposal is what that failed third date could have been; dinner at the no longer new and trendy restaurant followed by a quiet night on the lookout surrounded by the trees and a blanket of stars. He’s already planning on making reservations for this weekend and checking at least three different weather reports while he slides his key into the lock, but his plans come to a grinding halt when he steps into the apartment to find Clarke sprawled off on the couch.

For the past few days they’ve been on conflicting schedules, him at school while she got stuck with the night blocks at the clinic. They most they’ve seen of each other is a sleepy cuddle when she crawls into bed near midnight and when he’s crawling out at six. Figures the one time he actually doesn’t want her to be home, she is.

“Clarke?” he blurts out, before trying to act normal. The box in his pocket feels ten times heavier. “What are you doing here? I thought your shift ends at eleven today?”

One glance at his watch tells him that it is most definitely not anywhere near eleven and he has no idea how to he’s supposed to get the ring off his person and hidden away with her here in the apartment with him. Conundrum doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Clarke groans as she rolls over, squinting up at him from beneath her mass of covers.

“Sick,” she says, slowly sitting up, “Think I caught something from one of the patients. Everything hurts and I’m dying.”

Bellamy can’t help but grin at that, ducking his head as he does so and stepping further into the living room. Now he can see the box of tissues on the coffee table next to a half empty glass of juice and several bottles of water. Her eyes are red and watery and she clutches onto her blankets like a lifeline.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, frowning, taking in her paler than normal complexion and runny nose. She hisses when he presses his hand to her forehead, flinching away from its coolness. “You’re burning up; do you want me to make you some soup? Have you taken anything for it?”

“M’fine,” she sniffles, before grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him close. Bellamy isn’t expecting her strength and he stumbles against the couch, having to brace his arm on the back over her to keep from falling. She tugs on him again, “Stay?”

On one hand, he can easily duck out and tell her that he’ll be right back before quickly stashing the ring in his textbooks, but on the other, Clarke is looking up at him with wide eyes and a pout and he can already feel himself giving in, sitting down next her. He tries to subtly angle himself away, shifting so that his pocket is pressed the armrest, but then Clarke is scooting closer to him, throwing her legs across his lap and pressing her face into his neck.

“I missed you?” she mumbles, cuddling against him, and Bellamy feels the last of his resistance melt away.

He curls a hand around the back of her neck, pressing a kiss to her forehead, feeling her burning skin beneath his lips. “I missed you too,” he says, pulling back and gently carding a hand through her tangle of curls. She nuzzles further into his neck with a contented sigh.

They sit like that for the next few hours, watching mindless reality TV, and Clarke only lets him go to collect the take out he orders for dinner. He puts on _Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey_ next and manages to feed her a couple bites of his lo mein, just enough so that she won’t be taking meds on an empty stomach.

It already warm to begin with and combined with the fact that Clarke is practically a human furnace covered in two fleece blankets, he’s already breaking a sweat and he undoes the first few buttons of his shirt, pulling it loose from his trousers. She wiggles a hand underneath the hem and traces aimless pattern into the skin of his stomach and Bellamy sighs, dropping another kiss to her temple while carding his fingers through her hair. Soon enough, her head is lolling on his shoulder, fast asleep.

He knows that he could carry her off to bed where she’ll be able to sleep it off in peace and he can get around to finally hiding the ring, but sick Clarke is a notoriously light sleeper, easy to wake up and hard to fall back asleep, so he just sighs and settles in for the while, still running his fingers through the snarls of blonde.

She wakes up when her fever starts to break merely two hours later, frowning when her hair begins to stick to the back of her neck and kicking off the blankets.

“Ugh,” she gripes as she fights to get all her hair into a messy bun. Already she’s looking ten times better, a light flush on her cheeks, eyes bright and not clouded anymore.

Bellamy chuckles and removes his arm from around her to make things easier. “Feeling better?” he asks, smiling fondly at her.

Her hair is in a messy knot, with pieces fall out and into her eyes. Nonetheless, she beams up at him, even as she impatiently shoves them out of the way. “Loads.”

She shifts now, and her legs come dangerously close to the box in his pocket and Bellamy freezes. Clarke cups his cheek with hand, gripping his shoulder with the other, and leans up, going to kiss him. At the last second he turns away, letting her lips brush his cheek while he holds down her legs. She pulls away, and her pout would be comical if he isn’t so worried about her finding out about the ring.

“You’re sick,” he protests weakly, having to scramble for an excuse while his hands grasp at her hips to stop her from sliding into his lap.

She nips at his chin. “That’s never stopped you before,” she points out, “Besides, my fever’s broken. I’m fine.”

He snorts. “And you call yourself a doctor.”

Clarke playfully snaps her teeth at him this time and cards her fingers through his hair. “All I want to do is properly kiss my boyfriend hello,” she says, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, “Is that really a crime?”

“Clarke,” he warns, but it’s to no use as she’s already wiggling out of his grasp, pressing both knees on either side of his legs.

He doesn’t do much to stop her from catching his mouth with hers, kissing him lazily, wet and deep, like they have all the time in the world. He barely stifles a groan when she flicks her tongue over his lips, and when he licks into her mouth, she tastes like oranges. The fingers in his hair grasp at the strands at the nape of his neck, anchoring him more firmly to her, and Bellamy lets his thumb wiggling underneath the waistband of her leggings to rub circles against her hip, pulling her flush against him.

She pulls back, and he whines a little, following after her until he notices the quirk of her brow.

“I’d ask if you’re happy to me, but I think by now I’d know the feel of your dick,” she smirks, dropping her hand to the hardness in his left pocket.

Bellamy groans, making a face and throwing his head back, eyes closed. When he reopens them, Clarke is still looking at him, a tad confused, and he thumbs her hip again.

“Yeah, definitely not my dick,” he says wryly, dropping a hand on top of hers.

He stares at her for a moment, taking in the way she sits, perched on his lap while gnawing on her bottom lip. It’s as far a cry away from the proposal he’s had planned for the longest while as one can get. Does he really want to do this now, with Neil Degrasse Tyson’s voice in the background talking about sulphuric acid on Venus, with nothing more than a couple boxes of cheap Chinese takeout and orange juice in their bellies, with Clarke wearing an old t shirt of his over leggings, make up smudged and him with a wrinkled shirt that has a small rip at the hem?

Yes.

She squawks indignantly when he sits up, almost throwing her off kilter if it wasn’t for the hand clutching her hip. He wriggles his hand into his pocket, and a few seconds later he’s pulling out the velvet ring box, thumbing it open for her to see.

“It’s- uh, I actually had a whole speech planned and everything,” he says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, “We’d have gone out to dinner and then I’d take you up the little clearing above the city- remember the one we were supposed to go stargazing on but we got rained out?

“And yeah, I’ve kind of had the whole speech thing outlined for years but I can’t for the life of me remember it now, but this honestly might be better than the night I had in mind, and I love you more than anything and want to spend the rest of my life with you and please say something soon, I’m starting to get worried.”

Clarke’s eyes snap up to his and she opens and closes her mouth a few times before finally rasping out, “Where did you get this?”

He flushes, dropping her gaze. “I had a guy make it for me using some of the old parts from your watch.”

“My watch?”

Bellamy nods, swallowing. “When you asked me to get it fixed two months ago. A whole bunch of things needed replacing, so I took the old parts and carried it to a jeweller.” She’s gone back to staring at the ring in awe, eyes tracing over it and mouth hanging open just a bit. He bites his lip and tries his best not to let his hands shake, but it’s really fucking hard when she’s staring at the box held between them with an unreadable expression on her face. “Please say something, Clarke.”

Ever so slowly, she reaches over and plucks the ring out of the box. “You made me a ring using old parts from my dad’s watch?” she says, throat tight as she reverently runs her fingers over the cogs and gears soldered into the thin gold band, the tiny diamond set in the middle.

“Yes. Clarke are you-”

She launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders and kisses him hard. He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but his hands quickly come up to hold her tight against him, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades when he feels her tears slide off onto his face.

“Is that a yes?” he pants when they finally pull away, breathless, and Clarke chokes out a watery laugh.

She swipes her cheeks with the back of her hand before holding out the ring for him to take. “Of course it’s a yes; you fucking made me a ring using my dad’s old watch- Bellamy that’s, that’s-”

He cups her cheek and his smile feels like it’s splitting his face, his own vision going cloudy with unshed tears. “I know Princess,” he murmurs, smacking a kiss on her forehead before sliding the ring on with shaky fingers.

She beams, staring down at it and practically glowing in excitement, and Bellamy thinks that even with sweat matted curls, smeared mascara and tearstains down her cheeks, she’s easily the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Clarke leans forward, pressing kisses all over his face, muttering ‘I love you’ over and over into his skin and he just clutches her closer. She shrieks when he picks up, burying his face into her neck, repeating her sentiments until it’s the only coherent thought either of them could spawn.

Later, she rolls against his side, tracing the curve of his bicep and he smiles, taking in her bed head and the goofy grin she can’t seem to stop wearing.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too, in case you weren’t too clear about that before,” she says, nosing his cheek.

His smile widens. “I know,” he says, before rolling on top of her, cutting off her squeal with a searing kiss, “But it’s nice to be reminded of.”

He kisses her again, slower this time, and tangles their fingers together, letting the metal band press into his skin. It’s hard to kiss her with the stupidly pleased grin he’s sporting, but Bellamy reckons that it’s not going to fade anytime soon, and besides, Clarke looks equally as lovesick. He traces his thumb over the band on her finger once more before kissing down the side of her neck, a promise of the two of them in their own little eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [tumblr](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/) I love yelling about my otp with people


End file.
